


The Indignant Ghost

by thechandrian



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting, Fluff, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, McDonald's, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechandrian/pseuds/thechandrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is a despondent university student working at McDonalds, previously the Café Musain. Enjolras is a ghost haunting the place. Together, they must save the building from destruction at the hands of rogue police officer, Javert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No harm intended, no profit made. I do not own Les Miserables.
> 
> I was inspired to write this after learning that the Cafe Musain may now be a McDonalds.

It was Monday, the first day of classes at the University of Paris. Grantaire was just starting out, and had already decided that he hated everything about it. To begin with, his roommate was incessantly annoying. His name was Jean Prouvaire, and he was a writing major from some bumblefuck town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, Grantaire hadn’t really been listening to his introduction, partially because it was coated in flowery language and spoken in iambic pentameter. Grantaire himself was born and raised in Paris, and couldn’t care less either way. The only thing that he did care about was drinking and scoring chicks. Well, usually just drinking.

He was an art major, since he’d been fascinated with drawing as a child. He supposed he had a sort of talent as well, when he was feeling inspired. Which wasn’t very often. When Grantaire informed his parents that he planned on majoring in art, they told him he was going to be unemployed for the rest of his life, and that he could forget about them paying for his education. Grantaire just said _whatever_ and closed the door behind him, possibly forever. He’d never been very close to his parents. They always liked to remind him how useless he was.

His alarm was set to 9 AM and currently blaring _._ He leaned over to attempt to turn it off, but accidentally knocked it on the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces.

“Motherfucker,” Grantaire cursed under his breath, rolling out of bed. Prouvaire was already awake and sitting on top of his bed, reading a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Prouvaire said, dramatically.

“Shut up,” Grantaire groaned, and walked into the bathroom, attempting to pull himself together. When he looked in the mirror, he realized it was a hopeless cause. His black hair was sticking up in all directions and he looked every bit as hungover as he felt.

His first class of the day was French history. It was a gen ed class for him and therefore, he really didn’t care about making a good first impression. Honestly, he couldn’t care less about French history; it was all a bunch of angry activists and failed revolutions.

Grantaire pulled on an outfit from his suitcase that he hadn’t bothered to unpack and walked out the door, ignoring Prouvaire’s poetic goodbye.

The campus was filled with happy students excited and nervous for the first day. Grantaire glared at them as he walked by. He looked at his schedule and several campus maps, eventually finding the correct classroom.

When he entered, the class was already full and the only empty seat was in the very front, next to an ambitious looking student with perfectly combed brown hair and about a dozen history books sitting on his desk. Grantaire rolled his eyes before sitting down next to him.

“Hello, I’m Courfeyrac,” the student said, reaching out his hand. Grantaire just stared at him. This was a class, not a friggin meet and greet. What was this guy’s problem?

“Grantaire,” he said simply, looking straight ahead. The student just put his hand back down and went back to reading his book.

Finally, the professor entered the class. He looked old enough to have been in a few revolutions himself.

“Hello, class,” the professor said, “I know you’re all excited to learn some French history, so today we’re going to discuss a very important event…the June Rebellion.”

Grantaire spaced out as the teacher rambled on and on about some revolution or another, that obviously failed, because it was orchestrated by a bunch of idealists with too much faith in humanity.

“So, I’d like you to discuss with the person next to you: What do you think the people could have done differently in order to have a more successful revolution?”

Grantaire hoped that if he ignored Courfeyrac, he might turn to the person on his other side. Unfortunately, Grantaire was sitting at the end of the row, and therefore, he had no choice but to talk with him.

“So, I think that the primary problem with the June Rebellion,” Courfeyrac began, reading through his notes, “is that not enough people showed up.”

“That’s not a problem,” Grantaire said, sighing, “that’s inevitable. The people would never have risked their lives in a fight that they couldn’t win.”

Courfeyrac looked offended by Grantaire’s bluntness, but continued on, “The people needed to have faith. If more people showed up, the battle would have been more balanced.”

“No,” Grantaire argued, “Even if all the people in Paris showed up, the army is still better equipped and better trained.”

“If that were the case,” Courfeyrac said, and Grantaire could tell he was trying to be amiable despite becoming frustrated, “revolutions would never succeed.”

“I’m surprised any do,” Grantaire commented, bitterly.

“You seem to be a very pessimistic person,” Courfeyrac remarked.

Grantaire just stared at him. “I’m just being realistic. And honestly, I don’t really care about this class.”

“You don’t care about French history?” Courfeyrac asked, looking affronted.

“No,” Grantaire said, packing up his books.

The professor called the class’s attention back to him, saying, “Tonight, I want you to all read the chapters in your books about the June Rebellion. Have a nice day.”

Grantaire was certainly not going to have a nice day, not if every teacher decided that they were going to assign homework. Wasn’t this supposed to be university?

Grantaire ambled back into his room, which was fortunately empty. The last thing he needed right now was a reenactment of _Romeo & Juliet._ Grantaire logged on to his email, noticing that he had a message from the school. It informed him that he still owed some of his tuition and that if he didn’t pay it, the consequences would be dire.

Grantaire wondered why the school had to be so ominous before lamenting the fact that he had absolutely no money. Everything that he’d saved had gone to books and room. Sighing to himself, he decided it was time to look for a job.

He was angry to find that the sun was still shining when he walked out of his room. Students were still walking around happily, talking about how interesting their classes were. Grantaire resisted the urge to shout at them, wishing he’d brought his flask. As he walked onto the main street, the _Boulevard Saint-Michel,_ he passed several crêperies and bakeries. However, no one seemed to be hiring. Instead, he bought himself a crêpe filled with chocolate, banana, and nutella. Grantaire knew he really should be saving what little spending money he had left, but he couldn’t help it – he fucking loved crêpes.

At the corner of the _Boulevard Saint-Michel_ and _Rue Soufflot,_ Grantaire happened upon a rather large McDonalds. It was housed in an old building that had several floors, and was situated across from a fountain that was currently unused. Grantaire walked in, finding the restaurant to be crowded and once again, filled with happy people enjoying their greasy fast food. Grantaire scoffed at them, making his way to the counter.

“What can I get for you?” the employee asked, cheerfully.

“Are you hiring right now?” Grantaire asked, trying to put on a smile.

“We are, actually!” the employee said, too loudly. “Let me just grab my manager.” The employee disappeared into the back and returned with a disgruntled looking bald man, only a few years older than Grantaire.

The manager came around the counter and shook Grantaire’s hand.

“Hello, I’m the manager, Laigle. You’re hired,” he said, quickly.

“Wow, that was fast. No interview process? You don’t care that I’m an ex-con?”

“You’re an ex-con?” Laigle said, looking nervous.

“No, I was just joking,” Grantaire said. He loved fucking with people.

“Oh, well, I shouldn’t say this but we’re very desperate for people to work here, as you probably know,” he said, ushering Grantaire into a corner where they could talk at least semi-privately.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said, honestly.

“I should warn you, this McDonalds has nothing but bad luck,” he said.

“Bad luck? Such as…?”

“Where do I begin!” Laigle shouted, causing several customers to look over. He was running his hands across his head as he said, “One time, I locked all the doors before leaving, but when I came in the next day, all the chairs and tables were stacked up on top of each other, forming a giant wall!”

“That is curious,” Grantaire said, skeptically. He seriously doubted it was that extreme.

“Then! One time! The ovens all turned on in the middle of the night and the place almost burned to the ground!”

All the costumers really were staring at this point, and Laigle looked about to have a panic attack.

“Sounds like you have a ghost problem,” Grantaire joked.

Laigle gasped and looked pale. “I didn’t want to say it, but you seem like someone that I can trust – I think we do have a ghost problem.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, seriously regretting even coming in here looking for a job. He didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of crazies.

“I’m sorry,” Laigle said, “I’ve probably scared you off.”

“Lucky for you I’m equally desperate,” Grantaire said, “I’ll take the job.”

“Oh, that’s great! You can start tonight! Our only other employee is quitting today.”

“You only have one other employee?” Grantaire asked, looking around at the horde of costumers.

“Yes, well, the employee that you currently see was attacked last night, and no longer wishes to work here.”

“Attacked? What happened?”

“He was cleaning the upstairs dining area when he heard someone shout _Vive le Republique!_ and he was nearly tossed out the window!”

Grantaire was beginning to grow worried. Maybe they didn’t have a ghost problem, but it did seem like hooligans were messing with the McDonalds. He wondered why. He wondered if the McDonalds had any sketchy history of which he should be aware. Grantaire thought about his tuition and decided to just suck it up.

“I’ll take the job, regardless,” Grantaire said, and Laigle let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he said, “you can start tonight.”

Grantaire thanked him, and wandered home to read a little about the June Rebellion before coming to work, making burgers, and hunting ghosts.


	2. Chapter 2

At seven o’clock, Grantaire left his dorm room and began the short walk to his new job at McDonalds, grabbing his flask and putting it in his pocket. He was carrying his French history book with him, hoping that it would be quiet and he could get a little reading in. Although he didn’t care much about French history, he still wanted to know enough about the June Rebellion to shut Courfeyrac down in a debate.

When he entered the McDonalds, there were only a few people mingling at the tables. Laigle was behind the counter, organizing some money in the register.

“Ah, you’ve arrived!” Laigle said, scurrying around to greet Grantaire.

“I have,” Grantaire said, feeling nervous. He was still thinking about all the bad luck this place seemed to have.

“Oh, I just realized, I never asked your name,” Laigle said.

“It’s Grantaire,” he introduced. He was surprised when Laigle seemed to pale slightly.

“Did you say…Grantaire?” he said, in a low whisper. Grantaire had to fight the urge not to laugh. Seriously, this guy was too much.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, trying not to sound mocking, but probably failing.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a…sort of a…drinking problem, would you?” Laigle stuttered.

Grantaire wouldn’t necessarily say he had a drinking _problem_ , although he did drink more than the average person. He wondered how Laigle found out, and if he was about to tell Grantaire that even though this McDonalds was haunted and had a habit of self-destructing, they still couldn’t possibly hire someone who was frequently intoxicated.

Grantaire thought about the flask in his pocket.

“Uh, no, of course not,” Grantaire lied, knowing that his initial hesitation probably gave it away. Laigle was looking at him doubtingly, confirming Grantaire’s belief.

“This is going to sound strange, but sometimes I hear a voice,” Laigle started.

“You’re…schizophrenic?” Grantaire guessed.

“No!” Laigle said, waving his hands in front of his face and looking frantic, “I hear the voice of the _ghost_. And it talks about you. It says your name. That’s how I knew it.”

Grantaire was now beginning to wonder if this was some sort of initiation test to make sure he was up to the task of being a cashier at McDonalds. He wondered whether or not he was meant to play along.

“There are lots of people named Grantaire,” he said, “it’s a popular name.”

“It’s certainly not,” Laigle argued, “I don’t know a single person named Grantaire.”

“You know me,” Grantaire said, stating the obvious.

“You know what,” Laigle said, pounding Grantaire on his shoulder, “I like you, kid. Good luck surviving the night, if you think this is all a big joke.”

He grabbed his bag and walked out, leaving a pair of keys on the counter. Grantaire assumed that they locked the restaurant, although he had no idea when this McDonalds was even supposed to close or anything about it. He didn’t even have a contact number for Laigle, not that he would necessarily have gone to him with any manner of emergency. He walked behind the counter, finding an apron that was left on one of the chairs in the back and putting it on.

Not a moment later, a couple approached the counter. They were giggling and carrying on.

“What can I get for you two?” Grantaire asked, trying to sound as cheerful as the other employee earlier today.

“Hm, I’m not sure,” the kid said. He had the most dumbfounded expression on his face, looking at the menu. Suddenly he looked at Grantaire and said, “You know, Cosette has never been to McDonalds before.”

“Who?” Grantaire asked, rudely.

“Cosette,” the kid said, motioning to the blonde girl next to him. She blushed and looked away.

“I haven’t been in years,” the kid continued, even though there was now a line forming behind him. “I used to go frequently when I was younger, but then I decided to make a positive change and eat healthy.”

“Congratulations,” Grantaire said, laying the sarcasm on thick. The kid didn’t seem to notice.

“Marius, maybe we should just order,” Cosette said, noticing the growing line behind her, now almost to the door.

“You’re right, hmmm, let’s see,” Marius once again went back to studying the menu. Grantaire knew from experience that there were literally only like five options on the menu and was wondering what could be taking this kid so long to decide.

“My name’s Marius, by the way,” Marius said suddenly, and reached out his hand to Grantaire. Why the hell did everyone feel the need to introduce themselves in this part of the city? Like he would ever even see Marius again.

“You’ll probably be seeing a lot of me,” he said.

“Why?” Grantaire asked.

“Well, I’m attending the university nearby. I’m a political science major. I want to inspire change in the future,” Marius explained.

“Hey kid, could you maybe hurry it up?” a voice called from near the back of the line.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries,” Cosette said, looking at Marius expectantly.

“Good choice,” Marius said, “but I don’t know if that’s what I want.”

Suddenly a stern looking police officer approached the counter, glaring in equal turn at Marius, Cosette, and Grantaire. Grantaire fought the urge to yell _how is this my fault_? But the police officer had “douchebag” written all over his face, and he didn’t really fancy getting arrested his first day on the job.

“Listen, kids,” he said, and Grantaire could see his nametag read: _Javert_ , “Crime is running rampant on the streets at this hour.”

Grantaire, Marius, and Cosette turned to look out the window, seeing only happy couples strolling, birds singing, and a beautiful pink sunset.

“That’s why I need to get my soda and get back out there, or we’re going to have chaos on our hands,” Javert finished dramatically.

“What would you like?” Grantaire asked him, hoping that if he decided quickly, the line could get moving again.

“I’d like–” he began, but was interrupted by Marius.

“I would like just a cheeseburger, please,” he said.

Javert reached for his gun and pulled it out. Marius and Cosette gasped and stepped back. The rest of the line didn’t seem to notice, they were all spaced out or looking at their phones.

Grantaire quickly tried to remedy the situation: “Listen, officer, I’ll get your food, we don’t want to do anything we’ll regret, right?”

Of course, he would have to deal with the rogue police officer on his first day.

“The only thing you’ll regret is not getting me a damn soda,” Javert said, putting his gun away.

“What kind?” Grantaire asked.

“What the hell do you mean, what kind?” Javert slammed his fists on the table.

Grantaire honestly didn’t know how he could phrase the question any differently.

“A damn soda!” Javert shouted. Grantaire went into the back and filled up a cup with the first soda he could find: Pepsi.

“I hope Pepsi is okay,” Grantaire said, handing him the soda.

“Enjoy your job while it lasts,” Javert muttered ominously, grabbing the cup angrily and walking out, pushing over a few people on the way.

“Anyway, your burgers will be right out…why don’t you just, wait somewhere,” Grantaire said to the couple, walking into the back.

He threw two burgers on the grill and watched as they cooked. Honestly, he’d never cooked burgers before in his life but figured that the process couldn’t be all that complicated, otherwise Laigle would have trained him. When the burgers were finished, Grantaire wrapped them up and put them in a bag, wandering back into the front of the store. Of course, Cosette and Marius were nowhere to be found.

“Excuse me,” Grantaire said, and he pushed past the line, climbing upstairs into the sitting area, thinking that Marius was probably the sort of person to think their food would just be delivered to them.

He was right. The upstairs sitting area was completely deserted, except for Marius and Cosette, sitting at a table in the middle. The area was filled with about seven tables, with a bathroom off to the side. The whole room was luminously lit by a giant window, which faced the outside square and fountain. The pink sunlight was fading into the room, making it all look very ethereal.

Grantaire set the bag of food onto their table and walked over to the window, looking out.

“Grantaire!” he heard his name and turned around. Marius was inspecting his burger, opening up a ketchup packet and squeezing it.

“How do you know my name?” Grantaire asked, approaching the table.

“Sorry, mate?” Marius asked, with a random Scottish accent.

“Uh, how do you know my name?” Grantaire repeated.

“I don’t!” Marius said, “what is it?”

“Grantaire,” he said, “but didn’t you just say it?”

“No,” Marius said, and he shoved the burger into his face. Grantaire figured he was probably just hearing things, and quickly descended the stairs to deal with the angry horde of ignored costumers waiting for him.

They were dealt with quickly, since they easily had a half hour to decide what they wanted. Around eight, Cosette and Marius left, waving goodbye to Grantaire as though they were old friends. Grantaire cleaned up the counter and kitchen, read from his book a little, and at nine, when the last of the costumers were gone, locked the door to the restaurant.

He went around the first floor, shutting off the lights, until the store was only dimly lit, casting shadows here and there. Grantaire felt a little uneasy and scolded himself. There was no way that this McDonalds was haunted.

Suddenly, he heard a massive crash from upstairs.

Nearly shitting himself, he grabbed a knife from the kitchen and ran upstairs, fully prepared to take down whatever hooligans thought it was okay to vandalize a McDonalds.

He froze when he saw a silhouette against the window. It had to be a ghost. The outline was flickering in and out, and it seemed to be holding a flag in its hands. The tables had all been upturned, and were balanced precariously on top of each other, as if to form a wall.

Grantaire knew that his knife would be no good against this supernatural force.

The silhouette turned around, and Grantaire could see that if this was a ghost, it was the single most attractive ghost he’d ever seen in his life. The figure was a young man, who looked about Grantaire’s age, if only for the strange outfit he was wearing, implying that he was way older. He had curly blonde hair that seemed to blow in some nonexistent wind. He carried a red flag, and made Grantaire both horrified and turned on.

“The store is closed,” Grantaire tried for a menacing voice, but it came out small and scared.

“Grantaire,” the ghost said, and its voice sounded almost affectionate, “you’re here.”

The ghost began to approach Grantaire, and he waved the knife around threateningly.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill you!” Grantaire shouted.

The ghost scoffed at him, and stopped walking.

“How do you plan on killing me with that?” it said, raising a ghostly eyebrow, “I’m already dead.”

“That’s impossible,” Grantaire argued, “there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Still a skeptic, I see,” the ghost said, and it was flickering worse than before, making the air around it cold. Grantaire shivered.

“Why’d you do this to the chairs, then?” Grantaire said, indicating the wall set up around the length of the room. “I just got a job here, you know. I don’t want to clean up after hooligans, even if they are supernatural in nature.”

“I was bored,” the ghost said, “I’ve been waiting nearly two centuries for you.”

“For me?” Grantaire said, and he lowered the knife now, realizing that it was a pretty dumb idea. “Why?”

“For revolution, of course! Look at this place!” the ghost indicated the entire upstairs sitting area, as though its very existence was offensive. The only aspects that Grantaire found bothersome were the stacked up tables and chairs, which would add another hour to his closing routine. Oh, and also the ghost.

“This place might not be so bad if you weren’t pushing employees out of windows and building walls of furniture,” Grantaire countered. The ghost had stopped flickering and actually looked pretty solid at this point.

“I should apologize for that,” the ghost said, and it was once again moving closer to Grantaire. Even though Grantaire admitted to himself that the knife was useless, he couldn’t help tightening his grip on it. After all, ghosts were notorious for being up to no good and this one already had quite a reputation. “I didn’t mean to push him out the window. I was reliving my death.”

“You fell out a window?” Grantaire asked.

“You don’t remember?” the ghost said, and it looked both offended and vaguely sad. It was flickering once again, causing a chill in the air. “You don’t remember me at all?”

“How could I?” Grantaire asked, honestly. “You said you’ve been dead for two hundred years.”

“It’s just…” the ghost began, and it was reaching out to Grantaire. He took a step back, resisting the urge to call for help. “It’s just I thought you might recognize me.”

“From where?” Grantaire asked, and his voice was once again filled with involuntary fear. He wanted to ask the ghost to back the fuck up.

“We died together, you and I,” the ghost said, and paused for a moment, staring into Grantaire’s eyes. “I guess I should introduce myself, then. My name is Enjolras.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire repeated. It felt familiar on his tongue, although he was certain he’d never heard the name before. “You said we died together?”

“We did,” Enjolras said, with a soft smile, “I generally believed you to be a useless drunk who brought nothing to our cause, but you proved me wrong.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but feel offended that this ghost he’d literally just met had called him a useless drunk, but decided that it was hardly the most ridiculous thing that had happened this day.

“I proved you wrong?” Grantaire pressed.

“You had a chance to live, and you chose instead to die at my side,” Enjolras said, and he turned to look out the window.

“And our cause was…?” Grantaire asked. He had yet to really make sense of what was happening. Earlier today, he would have said that he didn’t believe in ghosts, and yet one was standing before him. Not only was he conversing with a ghost, this ghost had apparently known some reincarnated form of him. Grantaire wondered if he’d gotten drunk without realizing it.

“Freedom for the oppressed people of France,” Enjolras said, and his voice was loud and passionate, “we made our stand here, and built various barricades around the city.”

“We made our stand at a McDonalds?” Grantaire said, smiling a little, despite how uncomfortable he was with this conversation.

Enjolras scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Grantaire. This wasn’t a McDonalds in the 1800s. It was called the Café Musain.”

“Fascinating,” Grantaire said, and now that he was thinking about it, that name did sound familiar.

Suddenly, the air around them was becoming colder and Grantaire fought the urge to run.

“Listen, I should probably go…” Grantaire trailed off, hoping that if he kept this Enjolras ghost happy, it wouldn’t feel the need to slaughter Grantaire or appear to him in various mirrors around his room, or slit his throat, or liquefy his eyeballs—

“Wait,” Enjolras called, “don’t go.” One of the chairs fell from the makeshift barricade causing Grantaire to jump seven feet in the air and dash down the stairs, missing the last step, and colliding into the opposing wall.

He was shaking with fear, unable to catch his breath. He grabbed his book from the counter and ran outside, his hands barely able to lock the door behind him. He ran all the way back to his dorm room, ignoring the annoyed looks from tourists as he crashed into them.

It wasn’t until he was safely back in his room, the door locked behind him, that he let out a breath. Prouvaire was sitting atop his bed, a book in his lap, staring at Grantaire with wide eyes.

“Grantaire,” he said, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Grantaire let out a rather frightening burst of maniacal laughter before calming down, realizing that Prouvaire was probably only a few minutes away from calling the cops and telling them that his roommate had gone nuts.

“I had a difficult day at work,” Grantaire explained, falling onto his bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Prouvaire asked.

Grantaire didn’t think he could even put his day into words. He was hoping after he left work, the episode with the ghost would fade away like a bad dream. Instead, it seemed to be even more vivid. He could see Enjolras’s face before him, his golden hair shimmering in the wind, his body half-translucent flickering in and out of his sight. He closed his eyes, hearing Prouvaire begin to read aloud,

“ _The life upon her golden hair but not within her eyes,  
The life still there, upon her hair, the death upon her eyes_.”

 “What the hell are you reading?” he asked.

“Poe,” Prouvaire said.

“Of course you are,” Grantaire groaned, and laid back down, draping his arm over his face.

“ _To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven…_ ”


	3. Chapter 3

When Grantaire woke up the next day, he admitted to himself that the whole episode at McDonalds had probably resulted from a combination of stress and alcohol. After all, there was absolutely no way he’d spoken to a ghost that happened to know him. The idea was absurd.

He tried not to think of Enjolras as he gathered his books for class, and walked briskly around campus, once again ignoring the passing students. When he walked into his history class, Courfeyrac was already there, reading the same book on the June Rebellion. Grantaire sat next to him.

The professor greeted the class and asked them to pair up and discuss the reading from the previous night. Grantaire, of course, couldn’t remember shit from what he’d read last night. He couldn’t remember anything but Enjolras.

“Are you okay?” Courfeyrac asked, as Grantaire opened his book and started to scan through the passages, hoping to find something useful to talk about.

“Yeah,” Grantaire groaned, “I had a weird night.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “You seem like someone who would have weird nights.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, no offense, but you seem like someone who gets wasted and has a lot of sex.”

Grantaire blinked once, and looked back into his book wondering what on earth about him gave off that impression. He guessed it was probably his disheveled appearance and the fact that he reeked of alcohol. He wondered if Enjolras had gotten that impression from him. Then he remembered that Enjolras already knew him. Then he remembered that Enjolras was a ghost. He tried to concentrate on the book, but the words were blurring together.

“Well, what I found interesting,” Courfeyrac began, obviously realizing that he would have to steer this discussion, “is the fact that it was run by students, and that they made their final stand at the Café Musain.”

Grantaire’s head snapped up. “Did you just say the Café Musain?”

Courfeyrac looked surprised by Grantaire’s random and uncharacteristic burst of enthusiasm and simply nodded.

“Does this book say who any of the students were? Like, their names?” Grantaire said, frantically flipping through the pages.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” Courfeyrac answered. He was looking at Grantaire curiously. “Why the sudden interest? I thought you didn’t like French history.”

“I read the chapter last night and was overcome with enthusiasm,” Grantaire lied, “were any of the students named Enjolras?”

“I don’t know,” Courfeyrac answered, “I don’t know if their names were ever recorded.”

“And they built various barricades? Did anyone die from falling out a window?” Grantaire was still tearing through the pages, practically pulling them out.

“I don’t know!” Courfeyrac said, and he looked less amused and more concerned at this point. “Seriously, what’s with the questions?”

“I told you, I’m just interested,” Grantaire said, and he closed the book, realizing that it was probably hopeless. Courfeyrac was totally the type of person to read books front to back and if he said no names were ever recorded, it was probably true. Grantaire wasn’t sure why, but the idea made him depressed.

“If you’re so fascinated by the Café Musain,” Courfeyrac said, “you might be interested to know that the location still exists in Paris today.”

“No way!” Grantaire said, practically falling out of his chair in excitement. Courfeyrac gave him a look that implied he wasn’t going to continue talking until Grantaire could pull himself together.

“Yes, although unfortunately it’s currently housing a McDonalds,” Courfeyrac stated.

“I think I work at that McDonalds,” Grantaire admitted, “it’s on the _Boulevard Saint-Michel_?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac said, “well then, I guess you’ve heard the news.”

“That it’s haunted?” Grantaire asked, before he could stop himself. He was excited that someone else recognized that this seemingly innocent fast food restaurant had a dark and mysterious past.

“What? Of course not,” Courfeyrac dismissed his question and continued, “it’s being completely renovated in a matter of months. They’re going to knock most of it down and rebuild from scratch.”

Although Courfeyrac looked horrified as he spoke, Grantaire thought that, all things considered, knocking down the McDonalds wasn’t exactly the worst thing that could happen. It was haunted and ghosts were dangerous and the world really wouldn’t suffer for having one less fast food restaurant. Then he thought of Enjolras. He thought of Enjolras telling him that they died together in that restaurant. He imagined holding Enjolras’s hand, and then scolded himself for somehow managing to fall in love with a ghost.

“Well, that’s terrible!” Grantaire shouted, causing the professor to glare at him. “How can they destroy such a historical place?”

“Well, not many people know about the Café Musain,” Courfeyrac said, “the June Rebellion wasn’t recorded very well, and it’s only because of a few dedicated historians that we even know where it is. Not to mention, the demolition project is being run by this horrible police officer named Javert. He has a lot of political power.”

“We have to do something!” Grantaire said, not bothering to lower his voice, even though Courfeyrac looked vaguely awkward under the stares of a bunch of annoyed students. He continued, “This is a place of history! They can’t just knock it down! Some people are relying on it to survive!” He finished, thinking of Enjolras. He wondered if Enjolras was currently building a barricade out of tables and chairs, or throwing tourists out of windows. The idea, though vaguely frightening, made him smile.

“Well, since you seem to be so interested, perhaps you would like to come to a meeting dedicated to the preservation of historical buildings,” Courfeyrac said.

Grantaire looked over at him, questioningly. This is exactly why he never expressed interest in anything.

“Uh, I don’t know, I have a part-time job…” Grantaire said, trailing off, hoping Courfeyrac would take the hint.

“We call ourselves the Friends of the Preservation of Historical Buildings,” Courfeyrac said, proudly, pulling a flyer from the back of his book and handing it to Grantaire.

It was obnoxiously bright and pictured the Eiffel Tower with a stick figure threatening to knock it down. At the top, in Comic Sans font, it read, “WILL YOU JOIN IN OUR CRUSADE?”

Grantaire thought that the whole thing came off as rather exaggerated, but tucked the flyer into his bag, regardless.

“All the information you need is there,” Courfeyrac said, “including meeting times and our location. I look forward to seeing you there.”

“Right,” Grantaire muttered, not really sure if he was willing yet to dedicate his drunken evenings to fight in a supposed “crusade” against a rogue police officer set on destroying historical buildings. He gathered his belongings as the class ended, and walked straight to work.

Laigle had neglected to give him a set schedule, and so he decided he would ask for it today. Although he did have certain issues he wanted to discuss with Laigle (such as, maybe, hiring more friggin employees) he was half-hoping that he would have the store to himself in order to possibly speak with Enjolras again. He wanted to tell him all the history he’d learned.

Just as he was getting excited about talking with Enjolras, he reminded himself that, of course, he was probably just seeing things last night. There really wasn’t any ghost haunting the McDonalds, and he’d gotten suckered into joining some kind of social justice club for no reason.

He stopped by his favorite crêperie on the way and picked up a strawberry crêpe, pondering whether or not Enjolras would like crêpes, and what his favorite flavor might be.

He was still eating it as he walked in. Laigle was behind the counter, ringing up a costumer, and his whole face became a scowl when he saw Grantaire. He marched around the counter and stared at the crêpe with disgust.

“No outside food,” he said, shortly.

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” Grantaire apologized, even though he was already planning on getting another crêpe for tomorrow’s shift. “I actually don’t know anything about working here. When is this place supposed to close? Will you ever hire any more employees? What’s my schedule?”

“Slow down, son!” Laigle shouted, with a nervous laugh. “Just calm down now, don’t do anything drastic.”

Grantaire contemplated what drastic actions Laigle could possibly think he was about to take. Probably quitting, or setting the place on fire.

“I’m about to!” Grantaire shouted his empty threat.

“Listen, your schedule is in the back! No, we won’t hire any more employees, because I don’t need a lawsuit on my hands! And this place closes whatever fucking time you want!” Laigle shouted, raising his hands in exasperation.

Grantaire was too stunned at this outburst to speak, so he simply took another bite of his crêpe.

“I’m sorry, Grantaire,” Laigle said, calming down, “it’s just, I had a hard day. Javert came by this afternoon to inspect the place, and our resident ghost poured a bucket of water on his head and tied him to a chair. Javert accused me of doing it, and when I tried to explain that this place was haunted, he didn’t believe me.”

“Javert seems to be a problem,” Grantaire said, “I hear he’s knocking down the building?”

“Well, goddamnit! I wanted to keep that a secret! Yes, it’s true!” Laigle once again looked on the verge of a mental breakdown, and Grantaire didn’t want to be around when it happened.

“Listen, maybe you should go,” he suggested, “I’ve got it handled here.”

“Okay, thank you, that’s great,” he said, grabbing a few papers from the counter and practically sprinting outside.

There were only a few tables occupied and no one in line, so Grantaire walked up the stairs to where he’d seen Enjolras the night before.

He was relieved to see that the tables and chairs remained untouched, but couldn’t hide his disappointment when he didn’t see Enjolras. Sulking, he went downstairs and back behind the counter, figuring he should actually do his job.

The night went by without issue, although Marius and Cosette did stop in briefly. Grantaire was hoping that Marius had been joking when he commented that he’d be seeing a lot of him, but apparently not. Thankfully, Marius only took about ten minutes to decide what he wanted, and spent the rest of the time talking about his political science classes.

As the clock reached nine o’clock, Grantaire once again began the process of shutting down the McDonalds. This time, he tried imagining what the restaurant had looked like in the nineteenth century. What had it been like when Enjolras was there? Where did they hang out? Grantaire walked up the stairs, not really expecting to see anyone, and was pleasantly shocked, and a little spooked, to see Enjolras sitting at one of the tables.

He smiled when he saw Grantaire and motioned for him to sit down. Although Enjolras did look beautiful, despite having a ghostly glow about him, Grantaire still hesitated before going over. He was still not entirely comfortable with this whole idea that ghosts were real.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Enjolras said, in a soft voice.

“Sorry,” Grantaire apologized, unsure why. He walked over to the table and sat across from Enjolras. He was shaking.

“What were you eating today?” Enjolras asked, with a gentle smile.

“Uh, a crêpe?” Grantaire guessed.

“It looked interesting,” Enjolras commented.

“They’re delicious!” Grantaire said, and his voice rose because he fucking loved crêpes and wanted to share with the world, “I’ll bring you one.” He paused. “Can you eat? I mean, since you’re a ghost?”

“I’ve never tried,” Enjolras admitted.

“Well, we’ll try,” Grantaire said, offering a smile. His fear had lessened slightly, and he tried to relax.

“I apologize if I scared you last night,” Enjolras said, and he spoke hesitantly, like any word might send Grantaire running off again.

“I’ve never seen a ghost before,” Grantaire said, feeling embarrassed over his previous display.

“It’s strange,” Enjolras said, moving his hand closer to where Grantaire’s was resting on the table. “I know so much about you, and you don’t remember me at all.”

Grantaire resisted the urge to move his hand back.

“I learned something about this place in class today, how it used to be the Café Musain,” Grantaire said. Enjolras pulled his hand back.

“Really? What do your history books say about the rebellion?” Enjolras asked, and his blue eyes were bright in his nearly transparent form.

“Nothing,” Grantaire said, feeling guilty, “just that it didn’t succeed. I mentioned your name to my friend, but, nothing. Sorry.”

“It’s expected,” Enjolras said, but Grantaire could tell that he was sad. “We didn’t die pointlessly, Grantaire. Look around, things have changed.”

Grantaire looked around and saw nothing except a moderately fancy McDonalds. He supposed things did change, although not in every way for the better.

“Did you know this place is getting knocked down?” Grantaire asked.

“Yes,” Enjolras responded, and he grabbed Grantaire’s hand. It was such a sudden action that Grantaire didn’t even have time to flinch away. Enjolras’s hand wasn’t icy like he’d expected, nor did it feel like the grip of a corpse or a cold wind. In fact, it felt like just a normal hand. Warm, soft, and comforting. Grantaire froze, and looked up at Enjolras.

Enjolras seemed oblivious to the effect this action had on Grantaire and continued speaking, holding onto his hand tightly, “Javert is behind this. I suppose you don’t remember him, but he was around during the rebellion too. I’m not sure, but I think that’s why you’re here now. To help me save this place.”

Enjolras paused, and looked down at their hands. He removed his, slowly.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, “I forget that I’m just a stranger to you.”

“No, it’s fine!” Grantaire said, quickly. “Honestly, it’s more the ghost thing that has me concerned. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Grantaire apologizing for being rude,” Enjolras said, with a smile. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Well, take a picture,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. Enjolras was getting him all flustered and it wasn’t fair.

Enjolras just looked at him curiously, before glancing over to the window. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

“Listen,” Grantaire said, wanting Enjolras’s attention back on him, “there’s a group of students who meet every so often, and they want to help protect this building.” Grantaire pulled the poorly-made flyer out of his bag and set it on the table. Enjolras scoffed at it.

“The Friends of the Preservation of Historical Buildings?” he said, “that’s not very clever.”

“I’m not sure clever was their goal,” Grantaire admitted.

“Well, you should suggest a different name. Some kind of pun,” Enjolras said.

“Anyway,” Grantaire said, “we should go to this meeting. Courfeyrac seemed really passionate about it.”

“Courfeyrac?” Enjolras said, his eyes widening. “He’s here too?”

Grantaire felt a ridiculous pang of jealousy at the idea that he might not be the only reincarnated nineteenth century revolutionary that Enjolras would want to hang out with.

“Yes,” he said, hoping Enjolras would respond with something like: _Well, I hated him, he was a jerk._ Instead he said,

“This is excellent news. Courfeyrac was extremely dedicated to the revolution. Have you met anyone else? Combeferre, Joly, Marius, Jean Prouvaire?”

Grantaire’s head was spinning. “Jean Prouvaire is my roommate,” he paused, thinking, “and Marius occasionally comes into the McDonalds to stare at the menu for seven hours.”

“Well, bring them to the meeting as well. I’m sure we’ll meet up with the others,” Enjolras said, confidently.

“Sure,” Grantaire said, and he unconsciously reached into his pocket to pull out his flask, taking a long drink. When he was finished, he noticed that Enjolras had disappeared.

He wondered, as he packed up his things and locked the doors, if maybe Enjolras disliked his drinking.


	4. Chapter 4

Grantaire walked to work the next day, carrying his art supplies along with him. Today he’d had his first art class and they’d discussed the definition of beauty and how to capture it. Grantaire previously believed that nothing was truly beautiful, and even things that were would eventually die and rot away. Now, however, he couldn’t be certain. Enjolras was beautiful, and Enjolras was a ghost. He was basically immortal in Grantaire’s eyes, like some kind of angel come from heaven to hover around Grantaire and fill his life with light, happiness, snide remarks, and a random revolutionary cause.

Grantaire decided that, with Enjolras’s permission, he would draw him for his art class. He was still deciding whether or not he would tell his professor that he’d drawn a ghost. On one hand, his professor might find his story metaphorical and abstract, and on the other, he might suggest Grantaire see a psychiatrist. Passing the crêpe stand, Grantaire thought about his promise to take Enjolras there.

He came upon the McDonalds, and Laigle was waiting for him when he entered.

“I have some bad news,” Laigle said, before Grantaire could even set down in art supplies. Laigle gave them a look but didn’t comment. He was probably hesitant to berate Grantaire for his constant bending of the rules considering he was the only employee and had more than enough cause to quit.

He continued, “Today Javert stopped in and informed me that the demolition project has been moved up. It’s planned for the end of this month. I’m sorry, but you might have to start looking for another job.”

Grantaire nodded and said, “I’ll find something.” He didn’t tell Laigle that he was currently planning on somehow saving this place in order to impress the attractive ghost that happened to be haunting them.

He left without another word, and Grantaire went to work. The day was slow, and Grantaire pulled out Courfeyrac’s flyer once again to look at it. The meeting place was an address: _75005 Pl. du Pantheon._ Grantaire could walk there from work.

At nine, he shut the store down, and went upstairs with his art supplies, hoping to see Enjolras. He was not disappointed.

“I guess you heard the news,” Enjolras said, as Grantaire walked over. He looked almost entirely alive, and wasn’t doing that strange flickering anymore. He was sitting atop a table, and running a finger through his gold hair.

“The news?” Grantaire asked, his heart beating fast.

“The demolition date has been moved up to the end of this month,” Enjolras said, in a tone that implied he was appalled at Grantaire’s question. “The _amis_ are good, but this is a nearly impossible task.”

“The who?” Grantaire asked again, feeling as though he were on a different plane of existence from Enjolras, which, he supposed, was actually true.

“The Friends of the ABC! Or the friends of historical buildings, whatever they’re calling themselves nowadays!” Enjolras said, exasperated, running his fingers through his hair in a manner Grantaire thought was way more seductive than the situation warranted.

“Would you mind if I drew you?” Grantaire asked, suddenly.

“Pardon?” Enjolras said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s for class, I have to draw something…” Grantaire paused, before gathering his courage, “I have to draw something beautiful.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened and Grantaire could have sworn he was blushing.

“Sure,” he said, finally. “Of course, that’s fine, Grantaire.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire said, and he pulled over a table and chair, setting out his supplies and beginning to draw.

“You used to draw me before, you know,” Enjolras said. “I think you were always too nervous to show me. But, one day, I saw anyway. You passed out drunk at the café and left your drawings lying around.”

“You make it seem like I was always drunk around you,” Grantaire remarked, starting the outline of Enjolras, who was still sitting atop the table.

“You basically were,” Enjolras said, but his voice didn’t sound angry or judgmental. Grantaire wasn’t sure why, but he found it surprising.

“I’m going to the meeting tonight,” Grantaire said, “will you come with me? Maybe Courfeyrac and everyone won’t notice that you’re a ghost.”

Enjolras laughed. “I don’t know if that’s true. In any case, I don’t think I’m able to leave this place. I’ve tried before, with little success.”

“Really?” Grantaire asked, shading in the shadows around Enjolras’s face. “Why’s that?”

“Something holding my spirit here, I suppose,” Enjolras said. “Even though I am a ghost, I know very little about what it means. I don’t understand why you were all allowed to die, and now to come back, and I’ve had to stay here.”

“Someone had to watch over the place, maybe,” Grantaire guessed.

“We died together,” Enjolras said, and his voice was low. “We died together, and yet we didn’t, really.”

“We’re together now,” Grantaire said, hoping he was being encouraging. It was overwhelming to think that Enjolras might actually be in love with this other version of him, this version he couldn’t remember. He didn’t know if it was even appropriate for him to be taking advantage of this situation. He tried to focus back on his drawing, coloring in Enjolras’s gold hair and his red coat.

“Before we died,” Enjolras said, and he was staring out the window, now, as if seeing the two of them, reliving their deaths. “You asked my permission to die beside me.”

Grantaire looked up at Enjolras, then. He was still staring out the window, and the pink rays from the sunset were shining through him. He could remember it, asking Enjolras, _do you permit it?_ He had no idea where the memory came from. It was gone just as fast.

“I guess you said yes,” Grantaire commented, unable to look away, trying so hard to imagine what they looked like standing there in front of the window, ready to face their deaths.

“I just grabbed your hand,” Enjolras said, and he turned back to Grantaire. He was smiling softly, and staring with such passion that Grantaire felt immediately both uncomfortable and ecstatic. “I was trying hard to be brave, but I’d never been so scared. Everyone was dead, and I was alone…I thought, the last thing I would see would be the National Guard.” He paused, closing his eyes tightly. When he opened them, they seemed to be shining with unshed tears. Grantaire wondered if ghosts could cry. He continued, “And then, you arrived. You had a chance to escape, and yet you stood beside me. I remember looking into your eyes, and seeing you, and that’s it.”

Grantaire was struck breathless by the story. He couldn’t imagine doing that. He wanted to remember what Enjolras was talking about, but the idea was frightening.

“I wanted to tell you, before we died,” Enjolras began, and stopped, looking nervous.

“Tell me what?” Grantaire asked.

“Forget it,” Enjolras said, quietly. His blush was a bright pink against his pale face. Grantaire decided to let it go, and quickly finished up his drawing. He thought it had turned out rather well.

“Look,” Grantaire said, picking up the drawing to show Enjolras. “You look nice. Like Apollo, the Greek god of the sun.”

Grantaire was surprised when Enjolras let out a small laugh, and jumped down from the table to approach him. He put his hand against Grantaire’s cheek and once again, Grantaire was struck by how warm he was.

“That’s an interesting comparison,” Enjolras said, with a smile.

“You like it?” Grantaire asked, and yes, his tone couldn’t be more flirtatious.

“I do,” Enjolras responded. He was leaning into Grantaire, closer and closer, before pulling back, and looking out the window once more. “You should go to the meeting. I’ll find a way to leave here.”

“Oh, right,” Grantaire said, pulling himself back down to earth. “I’ll ask around. Maybe someone knows someone who can talk to ghosts. You know, besides me.”

Enjolras laughed, and grabbed Grantaire’s hand, pressing it. “Thank you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire picked up his painting and walked to the staircase. When he turned around, Enjolras was gone. He locked up the doors and walked down the _Rue Soufflot_ to the address written on the flyer. He was only vaguely surprised to realize that the meeting place for the Friends of the Preservation of Historical Buildings was, in fact, the Pantheon.

At this hour, the Pantheon was no longer open to tourists, and yet Grantaire could see a small light shining from the top of the steps, just under the massive marble columns. He made his way swiftly, looking around in case some stray police officers were lurking around. When he neared closer to the light, he saw Courfeyrac and a few others gathered around a lantern, piles of pamphlets surrounding them. He rolled his eyes as he approached.

“Seriously, you guys couldn’t pick a less conspicuous location?” he said. The group practically flew to their feet, ready to run from the cops.

“Wait,” Courfeyrac said, “this is Grantaire. He’s a friend.”

The gang looked at him cautiously before sitting back down.

“So, really? The Pantheon? This isn’t illegal?” Grantaire asked, sitting down beside Courfeyrac.

“Our whole existence is illegal!” Courfeyrac shouted, and Grantaire wondered how on earth the cops hadn’t caught onto these meetings yet. “We’re dedicated to preserving historical buildings and therefore, our meetings take place at a historical building! It makes sense!”

“It makes sense,” Grantaire agreed, “it just seems like an unnecessary risk. We could all get arrested for having this meeting, and then who will save the Café Musain?”

“He has a point,” a random student said. He had mousy brown hair and glasses. Basically, the stereotypical geek.

“This is Combeferre,” Courfeyrac introduced, “and that’s Joly.” He pointed to another student, who was excessively rubbing his hands with sanitizer.

“Hello, nice to meet you,” he said, offering Grantaire his bottle of sanitizer. “The stomach flu is going around and I can’t afford to miss classes this early in the semester.”

“Of course,” Grantaire agreed, taking the sanitizer and pouring a little into his hands. He didn’t know a single person who had the stomach flu.

“And that’s Feuilly,” Courfeyrac said, pointing to the last student in the group. “He graduated last year, but still wishes to help us with our endeavor.”

“In Poland,” Feuilly began, “we take history very seriously. I hope to extend this dedication to France.”

“Cool,” Grantaire said, knowing literally shit about Poland and its history.

“So, shall we discuss the preservation of the Café Musain?” Courfeyrac said, calling attention to him.

“Actually, I have some news,” Grantaire said, growing nervous as everyone turned to him expectantly. “Well, I work at the McDonalds that used to be the Café Musain–”

“Traitor!” Combeferre yelled.

“I didn’t know!” Grantaire said, defensively.

“I’m just kidding,” Combeferre said, causing everyone to chuckle. Grantaire didn’t think it was very funny. “It’s actually good to have an inside man.”

“Then maybe you could stop making jokes for a second and let me share my inside information!” Grantaire shouted.

Combeferre looked offended and the rest of the group was growing uncomfortable. Grantaire struggled to put a smile on his face as he continued talking,

“Today my boss informed me that the demolition has been moved to the end of this month.”

The news created the expected reaction. Courfeyrac flew to his feet and began pacing the length of the Pantheon’s steps.

“Insanity!” he shouted, “this is Javert’s doing! He must have realized we were planning a revolt!”

“We’re planning a _revolt_?” Grantaire asked, worriedly. Looking around at the group Courfeyrac had managed to scrap together, he didn’t think that they could manage anything that extreme.

“Well, a protest,” Courfeyrac amended. “Either way, it’ll be hard to get something together so soon.”

“Especially with the semester just beginning,” Combeferre said, “I already have six page paper due for my philosophy class.”

 “That’s nothing!” Joly said, “I have an internship with a local clinic, it eats up all my time! Not to mention, my coworker is home with the shingles. It’s only a matter of time before I contract it as well…”

“Listen, everyone!” Grantaire said, gathering their attention. “Does anyone here believe in ghosts?”

Everyone stared at Grantaire as though he’d lost his mind.

“Grantaire, what the hell?” Courfeyrac asked, probably believing that Grantaire was making a mockery of his meeting.

“I do,” Joly said. “I was working late in a hospital once, and a book fell onto the ground on its own.”

“It was probably the wind,” Combeferre said, judgingly.

“It was not! All the windows were closed,” Joly argued.

“Who cares about ghosts anyway?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Listen,” Grantaire began, and he wished he’d practiced earlier how best to break this to the group. After all, they weren’t likely to believe him if he told them that they were all reincarnated revolutionaries from the June Rebellion. He hardly believed it himself. “There’s a ghost trapped in the McDonalds. The Café Musain, whatever. His name is Enjolras. Have any of you heard of him?”

The group had blank expressions. Courfeyrac looked exasperated, probably waiting for Grantaire to either get to the point, or admit that this had all been a joke because he really didn’t care about French history and just didn’t have anywhere else to be.

“Anyone?” Grantaire asked again.

“No!” Courfeyrac answered, throwing his hands into the air.

“Well, he’s haunting the Café Musain and he wants to help. He led a similar revolt back in the 1800s. The June Rebellion,” Grantaire finished dramatically.

“Wait, similar rebellion?” Feuilly asked. “I think that’s going a little far.”

“Yeah, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac agreed, “ours isn’t that extreme.”

“Wait, did you say a ghost led a rebellion?” Joly asked, confused.

“Yes!” Grantaire said, “there’s a ghost and if you don’t believe me, well, then I’ll show you!”

“How?” Joly asked.

“I’ll bring it here, next meeting,” Grantaire said, “I just have to find a ritual…”

“Hold up,” Joly said, “messing with the dark arts is dangerous. Maybe we could just protest without ghosts?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac agreed, “seriously, Grantaire, what the hell?”

“I’ll prove it!” Grantaire said, and he walked down the steps of the Pantheon, waving goodbye to them. “Get ready for revolution!”

He could practically hear Courfeyrac’s eye roll alongside the confused murmurs of the group as he walked back onto the street, returning to his dorm room.

As expected, Prouvaire was awake and reading classic literature when he returned.

“What’re you reading?” Grantaire asked, trying to be casual.

“Poe, still,” Prouvaire responded, “we’re doing a whole section on him.”

“So, Poe,” Grantaire began, “he wrote some dark poetry. Does he seem like the type of person who might be into, I don’t know, say, ghost summoning?”

“I don’t know,” Prouvaire answered, looking as though he were honestly considering it.

“Do you?” Grantaire asked.

“Do I what?”

“Know anything about ghost summoning.”

Prouvaire laughed as though he wasn’t sure whether or not Grantaire was joking. When Grantaire remained silent, he gave him a nervous look before continuing,

“Well, funny you should mention it. I have an old friend that is really into the whole ghost thing. She says that she can, you know, talk to them and whatnot.”

“How fascinating,” Grantaire said, practically jumping up and down with excitement. “Do you think you could put me in contact with her?”

“Sure, no problem,” Prouvaire said, as Grantaire changed out of his clothes and got into bed. “Why the sudden interest in ghosts?”

“No reason,” Grantaire said ominously, pulling the covers over his face. He thought of how cute Enjolras would look eating a crêpe.


	5. Chapter 5

When Grantaire awoke the next morning, Prouvaire was already gone. There was a scrap of paper left on Grantaire’s desk with a name, _Eponine_ , followed by a phone number. Grantaire guessed this was Prouvaire’s ghost whispering friend. He plugged the number into his phone and waited as it rang.

“Hello?” a female voice said on the other end, her voice was slightly raspy and she sounded annoyed.

“Hello, this is Grantaire, I’m a friend of Prouvaire’s,” Grantaire said.

“Oh,” Eponine said, and she no longer sounded as though Grantaire were responsible for ruining her entire day. “He said you’d call. You need some help regarding a ghost?”

Grantaire was grateful that Eponine made “some help regarding a ghost” sound like a normal favor, since he was getting quite tired of the looks people gave him whenever he mentioned it.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, “there’s a ghost in the McDonalds where I work. It’s on the _Boulevard Saint-Michel_.”

“I know it,” Eponine said.

“Well, the McDonalds is getting knocked down, and the ghost, Enjolras, that’s his name, he has blonde, curly hair and wears a red coat, and these tight black pants–”

“Anyway,” Eponine said, once again sounding annoyed.

Grantaire quickly got back to the point, explaining that the McDonalds used to be a café that was prominent during the June Rebellion, and it was being knocked down, and that Grantaire wanted to free the ghost from the restaurant so that he could help out and attend revolutionary meetings. When said out loud, the whole thing sounded one hundred times more ridiculous. Thankfully, Eponine seemed to think that this was a reasonable request. She agreed to meet him at the McDonalds after his shift. Grantaire thanked her, and hung up.

After his classes, Grantaire headed to work, practically skipping there. He was excited to tell Enjolras the good news, and also to bring him to one of Courfeyrac’s meetings. He couldn’t wait to see his friend’s faces when they saw the ghost. He wondered what Enjolras would think of them. He’d probably think they were lame and want to hang out with Grantaire the whole time.

The shift was moderately busy, and around seven, Marius came in carrying a stack of books.

“Hello, Grantaire!” Marius greeted, and Grantaire tried to look happy to see him.

“Studying hard?” Grantaire asked, indicating the pile of books, nearly toppling over.

“Yes,” Marius said, “we’re discussing the importance of preserving history, and the politics behind it.”

“What a coincidence,” Grantaire said, “I’ve been meaning to invite you to a group. It’s called the Friends of the Preservation of Historical Buildings. We’re meeting tonight. Sound like something you’d be interested in?”

“It does!” Marius said, clearly excited. “This is great! I’ve been looking for some friends to hang out with! Maybe you guys can help me think of some interesting date ideas for Cosette!”

“I don’t think we’re going to do that,” Grantaire muttered, but Marius didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, he ordered a salad and walked to his usual table on the second floor. Grantaire tried to imagine Courfeyrac’s reaction to Marius suggesting they stop the meeting to talk about girls. He burst into laughter, causing the next costumer in line to jump back in fright.

As usual, the crowd died down around nine, and Grantaire waited behind the counter for Eponine to show up. She finally did, carrying a large black bag with a series of odd symbols drawn onto it.

“Where’s the ghost?” she said, pulling out a flask and taking a long drink. Grantaire was suddenly envious.

“Upstairs,” Grantaire said, and he led the way to the dining area.

Enjolras was waiting for him, and looked surprised to see Eponine.

“This is a ghost whisperer,” Grantaire said, because he had no idea what to call her. “She’s going to help you get out of here.”

“Eponine, right?” Enjolras said, and Eponine looked surprised.

“Yes,” she said, “how did you know?”

“You must be a reincarnated revolutionary,” Grantaire said, no longer giving thought to how bizarre it all sounded.

“Sure,” Eponine said, and she put the bag down, pulling out a large tarp with a pentacle symbol on it.

“Stand in the center,” she told Enjolras.

Enjolras scoffed, but walked into the center, giving Grantaire a hesitant look.

“Don’t worry,” Grantaire said, encouragingly. “Eponine knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m not worried,” Enjolras said, sounding nervous.

“When this is over,” Grantaire said, walking closer, “you’ll be able to walk around wherever you want. I’ll take you to the crêpe place.”

Enjolras smiled, causing Grantaire to blush. Eponine rolled her eyes.

“I’m trying to concentrate here, guys,” she said, taking out a small pouch and a vial of what looked like blood.

“Is that blood?” Grantaire asked.

“Yes, from a virgin,” Eponine said, bluntly.

“You’re joking,” Grantaire said, suddenly nervous.

“Of course I am,” Eponine snapped. “It’s chicken blood. And this pouch is filled with the bones of a small animal.”

“Really?” Grantaire asked, shocked.

“Yes!” Eponine shouted. “What did you think ghost summing would require? Rainbows? A unicorn’s tears?”

“Geez, I don’t know!” Grantaire said, defensively. Eponine had opened the vial of blood and was currently pouring it in a circle around Enjolras. She sprinkled the bones here and there.

“Now, I’m going to say a few words,” Eponine said, “and you both need to be quiet during this. Especially you, Grantaire. No flirting.”

“Flirting?” Grantaire asked, aghast. “When was I flirting?”

Eponine ignored him and began chanting an incantation that was either Latin, or the language of the Devil himself. Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who was crossing his arms and looking distinctly doubtful about this whole process.

“This won’t work,” Enjolras whispered.

“Oh my god! I said be quiet!” Eponine shouted, glaring at Enjolras. He looked surprised to be on the receiving end of such a glare. She continued chanting.

Suddenly, Grantaire heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He didn’t even have time to hope it wasn’t his boss, or some officer of the law, before Marius appeared, his eyes widening when he saw the summoning before him.

Eponine hadn’t noticed Marius’s arrival and was still chanting. Finally, she stopped, and the circle of blood around Enjolras lit on fire, causing sparks to fly dramatically and the emergency sprinkler system to turn on.

There was a roar of wind that blew the water and fire around a bit, before putting out the flames. A quietness settled over the group, interrupted only by the sound of the water raining down from the ceiling, and Marius’s groaning.

“I did my hair today and everything,” he said, wiping the water away from his face, “what will Cosette say?”

Eponine flew around, surprised to see another person here. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Marius Pontmercy,” Marius introduced and then said, “Grantaire, I realized that I forgot to ask the location of the meeting.”

 “Meeting?” Eponine said, but she no longer sounded annoyed. In fact, she was frantically trying to fix her hair from the damage caused by the water and wind.

“Did it work?” Enjolras asked, cautiously stepping out of the circle. Grantaire reached out a hand to help him, and Enjolras took it, stepping over the circle of blood and bones.

“What meeting?” Eponine repeated, without looking away from Marius.

“There’s a meeting tonight for the Friends of the Preservation of Historical Buildings,” Grantaire began, pausing to allow Enjolras time to scoff at the name, “that’s why we needed to perform this ritual, so Enjolras could attend.”

“What’s with the dramatics?” Marius asked, indicating the room, which was still being rained on heavily by the sprinklers. Grantaire considered briefly how he would explain this to his boss. Probably just blame it on the ghost. He glanced at Enjolras, who still looked perfect despite the hurricane going on around him. In fact, the water seemed to pass right through him. He supposed that was one of the perks of being a ghost.

“This is a ghost,” Eponine said, pointing to Enjolras, who was standing closely next to Grantaire. Grantaire wanted to put his arm around him, but wasn’t sure whether or not it would go right through, and make things awkward.

“Marius,” Enjolras spoke, “if you can stop thinking about Cosette for a moment, I’m sure you would be a great asset to the cause.”

“The cause?” Marius asked, looking hesitant.

“The Café Musain is being demolished, and Grantaire’s group is trying to stop it,” Enjolras said, looking proud. Grantaire wasn’t really sure he should be taking the credit for the group, since he’d only attended one meeting, but didn’t feel like correcting Enjolras.

“The Café Musain?” Marius asked again, flabbergasted. “Really, what’re you all talking about? I think I’m going to have to find a new place to buy my burgers!”

“You’ll have to find a new place anyway!” Grantaire shouted, loudly, standing up on a chair and slipping on the wet surface. He fell onto the ground, barely catching himself on the table. Everyone looked uncomfortable, except for Enjolras was simply raised an eyebrow, looking at Grantaire as though he’d expect nothing different.

Grantaire continued, “This place is being destroyed! This is a place of history, of revolutionary change! Are we just going to stand by and let it be torn down by the law?”

“What is he talking about?” Marius attempted to whisper to Eponine, but was loud enough that everyone heard.

“Listen, I don’t have time to explain every last thing to you,” Grantaire said, becoming annoyed with Marius’s very presence. “The meeting takes place at the Pantheon tonight.”

“The Pantheon?” Marius asked, “is anything you guys do actually legal?”

“Marius,” Enjolras began, and everyone immediately turned to look at him. “We cannot follow the law if we wish to enact change. Sometimes drastic measures must be taken.”

“How drastic?” Marius asked, without really expecting an answer. He was currently in a McDonalds surrounded by a ghost, blood, and the bones of a small animal. He decided that sneaking into the Pantheon at night was the least of his concerns.

“Will you be going?” he asked Eponine.

“Of course,” she said, although she previously hadn’t shown any interest. “The preservation of this building is incredibly important to me.”

“Well, then,” Marius said, “I guess I’ll go. But first, I need to go home and change into something dry.”

“Same!” Eponine said, indicating her wet dress and flipping her dripping hair over her shoulder. “Let’s walk together.”

Marius and Eponine descended the stairs, leaving behind the summoning materials. Grantaire thought about cleaning them up, but decided blaming the ghost was easier.

“So,” Grantaire turned to Enjolras, “let’s see if this worked.”         

They walked down the stairs, and this time Grantaire was careful not to slip. When they reached the door, Grantaire opened it, allowing Enjolras to pass through. There was a moment in which neither of them was sure what would happen, and Grantaire held his breath as Enjolras took a step outside. Nothing happened. Grantaire let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Eponine,” he said to himself.

“This is great,” Enjolras said, and he was practically glowing. “This is amazing, thank you, Grantaire.” Enjolras was beaming, staring at Grantaire like he was some sort of god. Grantaire blushed, and looked away. He hadn’t even done anything.

They started walking down the _Rue Soufflot_ towards the Pantheon. It was a slow journey, as Enjolras was stopping every two feet to remark on all the changes.

Suddenly, a large truck drove by, rattling loudly, causing Enjolras to jump into Grantaire’s arms, letting out a high-pitched scream.

Grantaire was surprised how solid and warm Enjolras felt in his arms, and, once he realized the source of Enjolras’s terror, couldn’t help but laugh. Enjolras was watching the truck go by, with a fearful, accusatory glare. He finally turned back to Grantaire, looking offended at his laughter.

“I don’t mean to laugh, Apollo,” Grantaire said, still holding a shaking Enjolras in his arms. “I guess a truck would be frightening if you were used to, what? A horse and buggy?”

Enjolras scoffed and pushed away from Grantaire. “I’ve seen cars before, from the window of the café. Just, this one was loud. And threatening.”

Grantaire laughed again, looking at Enjolras apologetically. “It was pretty loud.”

Enjolras was blushing, and pointedly looked away from Grantaire as he continued to walk down the street. Grantaire walked next to him, asking questions about what Paris was like in the 1800s. Enjolras talked about the corruption and the poverty and the cause for which they fought. Grantaire thought their cause seemed rather hopeless, but didn’t say so. Finally, they arrived at the Pantheon. Grantaire could tell from the distant light just beyond the steps that Courfeyrac and company had already arrived.

“Did you tell them I was coming?” Enjolras asked.

“I said I was bringing a ghost,” Grantaire said, “not sure if they necessarily believed me.”

“You didn’t have to say I was a ghost,” Enjolras countered. “Do I look like a ghost?”

“You’re transparent,” Grantaire said, because it was true. Although he did far less flickering compared to when they first met, the fact still remained that Enjolras didn’t look all that alive. Grantaire could touch him, and he could move things, but he still looked half-spirit. “They would have noticed.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, and he seemed suddenly self-conscious.

“Don’t worry, Apollo,” Grantaire said, using his new nickname for Enjolras, if only to see the smile that formed on his face whenever he heard it, “I’m sure the group will be just as understanding about ghosts as our good friend Marius.”

Grantaire and Enjolras ascended the steps, approaching the group who were talking in raised voices, oblivious to the attention they were certain to attract if they kept acting like a bunch of hooligans.

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac greeted, as he saw him approach. He froze when his eyes fell upon Enjolras. “Holy fucking—”

He was cut off by Combeferre who was approaching, looking somewhat frustrated that Grantaire had decided to show up.

“That’s not a ghost,” he said, pushing up his glasses, “that’s clearly a friend of his who dressed up to look dead.”

Enjolras, who was previously disappointed to learn that he was transparent, now looked scandalized by Combeferre’s lack of belief.

“No way, ‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac said, backing up, “that’s a fucking ghost. I can see right through it.”

Combeferre looked uncertain, but didn’t get any closer.

“Friends,” Enjolras said, sounding as though he were about to make a speech, “I am indeed a ghost. My name is Enjolras, and this may sound strange, but I’ve known you all in a past life.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre were joined by Feuilly and Joly, each sharing an expression somewhere between terror and disbelief.

“If you know me,” Joly said, holding his bottle of hand sanitizer tightly. “Tell me something about myself.”

“You’re a medical student,” Enjolras stated. “You want to become a doctor, and you have horrible hypochondria.”

“Wow, that’s true,” Joly said, looking impressed.

“Everyone knows that!” Combeferre shouted. “It doesn’t prove anything. Grantaire probably told him what to say.”

“Tell a secret about one of us,” Courfeyrac said.

“If you insist,” Enjolras began, slowly, “Joly, you have probably slept with a person named Laigle, or Bossuet.”

“You’re right!” Joly said, even more impressed. “How did you know?”

“You made it quite obvious in 1832,” Enjolras said, bluntly.

“I made it quite obvious…what?” Joly asked, not really understanding the whole reincarnation deal.

“Wait, you slept with my boss?” Grantaire asked, slightly disturbed.

“Sure did,” Joly said, “that was before I realized he was coming down with the common cold. We haven’t seen each other in at least a week.”

“Well, that proves it,” Courfeyrac said, not all that interested in Joly’s sex life. “This is obviously a ghost come back to help us in our time of need.”

“Exactly,” Grantaire said, glad that Courfeyrac was so open towards the existence of ghosts.

Combeferre approached Enjolras then, looking at him curiously. He reached out his hand towards Enjolras’s chest, and Grantaire fought the urge to ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing. Combeferre seemed to lose his nerve, as he pulled his hand back and walked away, looking annoyed with everyone around him.

Courfeyrac glanced at Combeferre, then back to Grantaire and Enjolras.

“Shall we begin?” he said.

“Wait!” a voice called. Grantaire looked down the stairs to see Marius and Eponine approaching.

“Forgetting someone?” Marius said, laughing.

“Who the hell are you guys?” Combeferre asked, frustration evident in his voice. “This can’t be a huge group, the cops are going to catch on!”

“My name is Marius, nice to meet you,” he said, walking up to Combeferre and offering his hand. If Grantaire didn’t know any better, he’d say that Marius was purposefully ignoring Combeferre’s annoyance. However, knowing Marius, he was probably just oblivious to it.

“Do you even know what this group is for?” Combeferre asked, in a scathing tone.

“Uh, I think…didn’t you say…historical something?” Marius asked.

“You have no idea!” Combeferre said, exasperated.

“He’s joking!” Eponine said, attempting to save the day. “Of course, we know that this is a group dedicated to the preservation of historical buildings, and you want to save the McDonalds.”

“The Café Musain,” Enjolras began, in a loud voice, “is not only an important historical landmark, it is the place of death for many of us here today.”

“Enjolras is right,” Courfeyrac agreed, before realizing exactly what he was agreeing with. “Well, I mean, maybe not about our deaths, but the Café Musain is important. We must protect it from Javert at all costs.”

“And how do we propose to do that?” Combeferre said. “The demolition has been rescheduled for the end of the month. That gives us a week, at most.”

“Well, now we have a ghost on our side,” Joly said. “We can use him to our advantage.”

“How?” Grantaire asked, feeling protective over Enjolras.

“Well,” Joly began, “the McDonalds already has a sort of reputation for being haunted, and if the demolition crew comes at night, it would be easy enough to scare them away.”

“It’s true,” Marius said, “one time I saw a horror film with Cosette. I couldn’t sleep for a week.”

“That’s not surprising,” Grantaire muttered.

“Construction usually takes place in the morning or afternoon, though,” Combeferre remarked.

“The same was true for construction in Poland,” Feuilly spoke, for the first time that meeting, “until many people complained that it was too loud or distracting, and then they moved it to the night.”

“What kind of people had the power to enact those changes?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Powerful people complained. You know, rich people, political people,” Feuilly explained.

“Javert is definitely the type to care about that sort of thing,” Enjolras said, and the group looked nervous as he spoke, as though he were about to set something on fire or summon the devil. “If he were to find out that he was losing favor due to this demolition, he might reschedule it.”

“Well then,” Courfeyrac said, “we’ll have to plan a way for him to figure it out.”

“Let’s dress up like aristocrats, and talk loudly about how bothersome daytime construction is,” Marius suggested.

Although everyone was immediately prepared to disagree with this idea, simply on the basis that it was contributed by Marius, they did not have the chance, as Enjolras said,

“That’s not a bad idea.”

Even Marius looked surprised.

“We’ll need people who are decent actors,” Enjolras said.

“I can act,” Marius suggested, looking confident in his abilities. No one really wanted to address the elephant in the room: that Marius wasn’t likely skilled at anything that required subtly.

“Excellent,” Enjolras said, clearly having faith in Marius, “and Grantaire, you go as well.”

“Me?” Grantaire asked, honestly surprised. “You think I’m good at acting?”

“I’m certain you are,” Enjolras said, not looking altogether happy. Grantaire wondered what about his past life indicated to Enjolras that he was good at acting. The only acting he did was pretending to be enthused at work.

“If all goes according to plan,” Courfeyrac said, excitedly, “they’ll move the demolition project back. Then, we’ll have Enjolras chase the crew out, and scare them so badly, no one will want to touch the place. Then, we can work on informing the populace of this place’s history and importance. Maybe even get the Café Musain back.”

“That would be great,” Enjolras said, his voice full of emotion. Grantaire turned to smile at him, surprised when he saw that Enjolras was already staring. He turned away and blushed.

“So,” Courfeyrac said, “Grantaire and Marius, Javert is usually stationed at the BNP Paribas bank, very close to the McDonalds. You can try to meet up with him there.”

“Excellent!” Marius exclaimed, overly excited.

“And remember, act posh. He’s not going to care if you seem like a bunch of complaining students,” Courfeyrac reminded.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, “I’m excellent at acting posh.” Enjolras laughed a little, bringing his hand up to his face. Grantaire thought that he was the cutest ghost to ever haunt the planet.

“Well,” Courfeyrac said, “good plan. So, thank you all for coming today.”

“Yes, friends,” Enjolras said, “it was good to see everyone.”

They all looked a little frightened, causing Enjolras to become uncomfortable. Grantaire fought the urge to smack everyone in the head and ask them where they got off making a ghost feel self-conscious. Gathering his courage, he reached over and took Enjolras’s hand in his own. He was surprised when it didn’t fall right through, and Enjolras looked over, smiling at Grantaire. He felt butterflies form in his stomach.

Soon everyone was departing, and Grantaire, after making plans with Marius to meet in front of the bank at noon, walked alongside Enjolras down the steps of the Pantheon.

It seemed strange, at first, to be walking side by side with a ghost. Enjolras seemed so alive to him, and yet, they were almost from different worlds. Enjolras looked at Grantaire and saw some nineteenth century version of him, and Grantaire looked at Enjolras and saw the most beautiful, interesting, passionate person he’d ever known. He tried to tell himself that it was crazy to be falling in love with a ghost, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. Besides, if Enjolras was correct, they’d already been in love for two hundred years.

“Why did you think I’d be good at acting?” Grantaire asked, breaking the silence.

“It wasn’t meant to be offensive,” Enjolras said, clearly sensing the hesitation in Grantaire’s voice.

“I’ve never thought of myself as an actor,” Grantaire admitted, “I’m just curious why you would think so.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Enjolras said, looking away. There was certainly nothing more adorable than a blushing, embarrassed Enjolras ghost.

“Just say it,” Grantaire said, smiling, nudging Enjolras a little.

Enjolras shook his head, but said, “For as long as I knew you, I was certain you only came to the meetings to tell us how wrong we were for believing in change. You constantly made fun of everything I said. I thought you came for that reason.”

Grantaire felt a little guilty for the actions of his nineteenth century self, but could understand his reasoning. Looking back, the June Rebellion had failed and Enjolras had died as a result. Grantaire couldn’t think of anything worse.

“When I asked you why you came to the meetings,” Enjolras continued, looking down at his feet, “you said, because you believe in me. It wasn’t until we were shot to death that I realized what you meant.”

“That I loved you,” Grantaire uttered, without thinking. It seemed the natural thing to say, and yet, he was certain it was inappropriate. He wasn’t the person that Enjolras was reminiscing about; he didn’t have any right to intrude on Enjolras’s feelings for this other person.

Enjolras looked shocked at his exclamation.

“I thought so,” he said, quietly. “I thought that’s what you meant to tell me, when you chose to die beside me.”

“So I was good at acting like I didn’t care?” Grantaire asked.

“Maybe,” Enjolras responded, “or perhaps I just wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

They were almost returned to the dorm at this point, and Grantaire was hesitant to let this moment end.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, “I feel I should apologize, even if you don’t remember. I was never very nice to you.”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire said, dismissing it. There was absolutely no way he was going to allow Enjolras to feel guilty about something that he couldn’t even remember. “I’m sure I wasn’t exactly the easiest person to be around. Even now, I find it difficult to believe in our cause.”

“I figured,” Enjolras said, “but we’re aiming lower this time. And you’ve already proven yourself.”

They were now standing outside the door to Grantaire’s dorm room.

Grantaire smiled up at Enjolras, and tentatively wrapped an arm around his waist.

“I won’t let you down,” Grantaire said, “you’ll see.”

Enjolras leaned down to touch their foreheads together, grabbing onto Grantaire’s hand.

“I know,” he whispered.

Suddenly the door flew open, revealing a rather frazzled looking Prouvaire.

“Grantaire,” he said, “I thought I heard your voice.” He noticed then that Grantaire was in a rather intimate embrace with a young man and quickly stuttered an apology, before noticing that the man in question was practically transparent.

“What on earth!” Prouvaire exclaimed. “I think I must be going crazy!”

Grantaire pushed passed him, leading Enjolras by his hand.

“You’re reading too much Poe,” he commented.

“No, but really,” Prouvaire exclaimed, “I think I’ve been drugged.”

“Don’t worry,” Enjolras said, sitting down on Grantaire’s bed. “I am a ghost. That is why you can see through me.”

Prouvaire just stared at Enjolras, then over to Grantaire.

“Grantaire, what the hell?” he asked.

Grantaire laughed. “If I took a shot every time someone asked me that, I’d be drunk for the rest of my life.”

“You’re already drunk quite often,” Prouvaire commented.

“Well, I’d be even more drunk,” Grantaire countered.

“Is he really a ghost?” Prouvaire asked, “why can I see through him?”

“It’s true,” Grantaire said, trying to sound casual. He supposed it made him seem cool to have such a nonchalant attitude towards the supernatural. He could introduce himself by saying, “Yeah, I’m Grantaire, I hang out with ghosts, no big deal.”

“There’s no need to be afraid,” Enjolras said, in a reassuring tone.

“I’m not afraid,” Prouvaire said, his voice shaking slightly. He was standing in the corner, as far away as possible from Enjolras.

“Well, Enjolras is going to be staying the night,” Grantaire said, “he’s from the 1800s, so I’m sure his old apartment has either been knocked down or transformed into a Burger King.”

Enjolras scoffed.

“That’s fine,” Prouvaire said, hesitantly making his way over to his own bed. “I was just watching a remake of _Poltergeist_ , but now I think I might turn on something less…ghostly.”

“Understandable,” Grantaire said, “we wouldn’t want to offend our guest.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Enjolras commented.

“It’s a film about a ghost that wreaks havoc on a house,” Grantaire explained, climbing into bed and moving over to allow Enjolras room to get in beside him.

“A what? A film?” Enjolras asked.

“I’ll show you,” Grantaire said, pulling Enjolras close to him. “We’ll need to do some research for your super scary McDonalds haunting, after all.”

Enjolras tucked his head into the crook of Grantaire’s neck, and closed his eyes. Grantaire wondered if he was actually sleeping, or resting, or just chilling there thinking about the old Grantaire. He closed his eyes, and felt Enjolras’s warm body next to him. He thought about just how bizarre, and how extraordinary, his life had become.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Grantaire woke to see Enjolras hovering around the room. Like, actually hovering. He was floating about a foot or two above Grantaire’s desk, and holding the French history book open, reading it. He looked as though he were lying down, resting on some invisible bed.

“Good morning,” Grantaire groaned, sitting up.

“Good morning,” Enjolras greeted, looking over. He noticed the odd look that Grantaire was giving him, and returned back to the ground.

“That’s a cool trick,” Grantaire commented, not wanting to make Enjolras self-conscious about his random ghostly abilities. “Must be fun.”

“It’s not all that exciting,” Enjolras said. “What is exciting, however, is this book you have here. Truly remarkable.”

Grantaire was grateful that at least one person found that book interesting. He threw himself out of bed and hurried to get dressed, checking the clock. It was nearly noon, and he needed to meet Marius at the bank. He dug through his suitcase, trying to find clothes that would make him look posh. He put on jeans and a button-up shirt.

“You don’t have nicer pants?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow. “Aristocrats don’t wear jeans.”

“This isn’t the nineteenth century, Apollo,” Grantaire said, “I think I can get away with wearing jeans.”

“You certainly cannot,” Enjolras said. “You forget that I’ve been a ghost for over two hundred years. I am up to date with the current fashions.”

“Oh, right,” Grantaire said, “so all of France’s richest clientele just happen to eat at McDonalds?”

“If you wear jeans,” Enjolras said, setting the book down on Grantaire’s desk and crossing his arms, “Javert is going to see right through your act, and you’ll have ruined the entire scheme. Is that what you want?”

“Fine!” Grantaire gave in, “I’ll change.” Even though his suitcase wasn’t all that large, he still took several minutes before finding his sole pair of black business pants. He put them on, and went over to stand in front of the mirror. He looked pretty ridiculous.

Enjolras walked over to him, and straightened his collar a little. Grantaire tensed at their close proximity. He noticed that Enjolras didn’t have a reflection.

“You look nice,” Enjolras said, “very posh.”

“Would I fit in with the local fashionistas at McDonalds?” Grantaire asked.

“Shut up,” Enjolras said, smiling.

“Okay, well I’ll only be gone for a little bit,” Grantaire said, “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t…you know, cause trouble while I was gone.”

“Trouble?” Enjolras said, with wide, innocent eyes. “I would never.”

Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure, but he was already late. He waved goodbye to Enjolras and shut the door behind him, heading briskly to the BNP Paribas bank, which was only about a ten minute walk along the _Boulevard Saint-Michel._ If he squinted, he could probably see the McDonalds from there.

As he neared closer, he saw Javert standing outside, scowling at everyone who passed by. Even some of the bank’s clients looked nervous as they entered the establishment. Grantaire tried to casually scan the area for Marius, but he wasn’t too hard to find. Marius was wearing a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost the same amount of money it would take to just buy the McDonalds back from Javert. He had his hair perfectly combed and gelled back, and his shoes were shining black in the sunlight. Grantaire rolled his eyes as he approached, feeling horribly underdressed, and grateful that he listened to Enjolras’s advice about changing his pants.

“Grantaire,” Marius greeted as he approached. He did a once-over of Grantaire’s obnoxiously casual outfit but kept his face neutral. “Javert is over there.” He pointed to where the cop was standing, hand on his gun.

“Right,” Grantaire said, suddenly nervous. “We’ll just walk by and act natural.”

“Remember to talk loudly,” Marius suggested, “so that he can hear us.”

“Good idea,” Grantaire said, and then he noticed a few ATM machines in front of the bank. “Let’s just pretend we’re taking out money.”

“Good idea!” Marius said, and his whole face was lit up with excitement. Grantaire recalled the time Javert pulled a gun on Marius for taking too long to order his food. He wondered where Marius was getting his random courage from.

They walked over to the ATM machines, passing by Javert and pointedly avoiding eye contact. Grantaire thought they probably looked way too intentional to not be suspicious and hoped it was only his imagination. Javert scowled as they passed, but didn’t seem to recognize them. Grantaire was grateful for that, at least. He pretended to dig in his wallet for his debit card, pressing random buttons on the ATM machine.

“My, my!” Marius shouted, in a random posh British accent. “What a fine day today!”

Grantaire looked at Marius incredulously. They hadn’t discussed accents. Grantaire had no idea how to do a British accent. He would just end up sounding ridiculous.

“Yes,” Grantaire muttered, feeling awkward.

“I woke to the sound of birds singing!” Marius was really shouting at this point, and random passerbys were glancing over. Javert, however, seemed oblivious.

Marius continued, “I thought to myself…IF ONLY EVERY DAY WAS THIS SERENE!”

Grantaire practically jumped at this outburst, and decided it was time to try his hand out at the British accent.

“Well, Marius, my dear fellow,” he began, “I heard the most dreadful news.”

“Do say!” Marius shouted, taking a random handkerchief from his pocket and holding it to his face as though the very mention of dreadful news was appalling to him.

Grantaire stepped away from the ATM machine and turned to face Marius.

“Do you see that yonder McDonalds?” he asked loudly. They both turned dramatically to look at the McDonalds and Grantaire could see from the corner of his eye that the mention of the fast food restaurant had caught Javert’s attention. He was now attempting to inconspicuously listen in on Grantaire and Marius’s conversation.

“Go on, son!” Marius said, still shouting even though it was no longer necessary.

“Yes, well,” Grantaire began, moving out of the way as a random jogger ran over to the ATM, practically pushing him out of the way. “It’s being demolished in just a few days, and well, my young wife is already complaining about the noise that is certain to make!”

“YOUR WIFE IS CORRECT!” Marius shouted, causing the jogger to glare at him, and then over to Javert as though curious why the police officer wasn’t apprehending these rabble-rousers. “I foresee a similar issue. If only our government cared more about the welfare of us important people, and didn’t conduct construction mid-day. After all, who do they think supplies their money?”

“I will see that the appropriate people are informed,” Grantaire said, sticking his nose into the air, and brushing off his sleeves. “We cannot allow this nonsense to continue a moment longer.”

“Hear, hear!” Marius agreed. Grantaire gave him a look that implied they’d done all they could do, and they both strutted away from the bank. Grantaire said that he would check in later with his boss to see if their plan succeeded, before making his way back to the dorm room.

Honestly, he would consider it a miracle if their ridiculous charade had somehow managed to sway Javert’s plans, but at this point, all he could do was hope. Also, he was nervous leaving Enjolras alone for longer than necessary. After all, he did have a habit of causing destruction.

It turned out that his nervousness was not at all unfounded. As he approached the dorm building, he saw a group of students and administrators gathered around the entrance. Grantaire pushed passed them to see that a large wall had been constructed around the building, made entirely of university-issued desks and chairs. As Grantaire stared helplessly at the display, he heard a soft cough behind him.

He turned to see Prouvaire, who was carrying a large book of Shakespeare’s plays and looking accusingly at Grantaire.

“What could have caused this?” he asked, implying that he already knew the answer.

“I have no idea,” Grantaire answered, thinking that Enjolras must be a rather powerful ghost if he was able to collect this many desks and chairs from occupied classrooms and build such a sturdy wall on his own. For the first time, he was surprised that the June Rebellion didn’t succeed. He couldn’t imagine Enjolras failing at anything he attempted.

“Sure,” Prouvaire said, skeptically, as Grantaire pushed passed the crowd and around the makeshift barricade to the door of the building.

He hurried down the hall to his room and unlocked it, finding Enjolras waiting for him. He was lying on Grantaire’s bed, looking the very picture of innocence, with the French history book laid out before him.

“Been busy?” Grantaire asked.

“Only learning about France’s history,” Enjolras said, batting his eyelashes.

Grantaire was about to ask why leaving Enjolras alone for an hour had resulted in him building a barricade around the entire building when his phone rang, distracting him.

He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was his boss, Laigle.

“Hello?” Grantaire answered.

“Grantaire!” Laigle said, and he sounded flustered, as usual. “I just got a call from Javert. The construction has been moved up to Monday night. I know your schedule says you have tonight off, but is it possible for you to come in and help us move things out?”

Grantaire froze at the news. Monday was tomorrow. He never thought that their plan would result in the demolition being moved forward.

“Of course,” he said, “no problem.”

“Thank you,” Laigle responded, sounding relieved. “I swear to god, once this demolition is over with, I’ll be much more at ease. I must have the worst luck in the world getting assigned to a building set to be destroyed! I’m being moved to a McDonalds on the _Rue du Commerce_ and I can hardly wait.”

“That’s good,” Grantaire said, used to Laigle’s over-sharing.

“No more ghosts, no more rogue cops…”

“Yes, good, I’ll see you then,” Grantaire said quickly, and hung up. He turned to Enjolras who was flipping through the history book as though every page was offensive.

“Bad news, Apollo,” he said, catching Enjolras’s attention. “The demolition has been moved up to Monday night. We’re going to have to work on your haunting skills if we want to succeed.”

“My haunting skills are fine,” Enjolras said, setting the book down next to him.

“Do something scary, then,” Grantaire challenged, sitting beside him on the bed.

Enjolras scoffed at him. “It won’t be scary to you because you can see me, and you know me.”

“It won’t hurt to have some ideas,” Grantaire said, going over to Prouvaire’s side of the room and snatching up his DVD copy of the _Poltergeist._ “We’ll watch this and make notes.”

Grantaire put the DVD into the player and settled back down on the bed, next to Enjolras.

As the film began, Grantaire could feel Enjolras leaning into him. He shifted over a little, draping his arm around Enjolras’s shoulders. Enjolras leaned his head gently onto Grantaire’s chest, linking their hands together. Grantaire couldn’t stop smiling. He expected to feel Enjolras’s heart beat, and was only a little unnerved to find that there wasn’t one.

The film was appropriately frightening and gave them a few haunting ideas, such as moving random objects around, sending ominous messages through television sets, and kidnapping children to transport them to alternate dimensions. All in all, Grantaire considered the cuddling to be the most successful aspect of the evening.

After the sun had gone down, Prouvaire returned, looking amiss to see Grantaire and Enjolras entwined together on the bed watching a film.

“Grantaire watching a horror film with a ghost,” Prouvaire commented, “when did life become so abstract?”

“Listen,” Grantaire said, noting the time, “I promised my boss I’d go into work tonight and help move shit out. I’ll try to get more information on the demolition.”

“Uh, is he going with you?” Prouvaire asked hesitantly, indicating Enjolras.

Grantaire looked down at the sleepy ghost in his arms and suddenly didn’t feel like going anywhere.

“I’ll go,” Enjolras said, sensing Prouvaire’s nervousness at being alone with a ghost.

“Cool,” Prouvaire said, trying to be casual.

The credits of the film were rolling and dark, gloomy music was blaring. Prouvaire quickly turned the television off, and went over to his desk to mindlessly rearrange his books.

“Let’s go, then,” Grantaire said, and he grabbed Enjolras’s hand, leading them both out of the building and onto the street.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, after they’d been walking in silence for a few moments, “I love you.”

Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras, unsure if he’d heard him correctly.

“What?” he stuttered.

Enjolras smiled, sorrowfully. “You don’t have to say anything back. I just wanted you to know.”

“Enjolras,” he began, but he couldn’t put into words what he was feeling. All at once he felt the immense pressure of being loved by someone who hardly knew him, and yet, at the same time, knew him more intensely than he could ever know himself. Enjolras was staring at him with a hesitant smile, and there was a sadness in his eyes as though he expected nothing other than rejection.

“You don’t love me,” Grantaire responded, finally, trying for a smile. “Not really. You love someone who looks like me, who has my name. Someone who died with you. That’s not me.”

“It is you,” Enjolras said with certainty.

“I wish I could remember,” Grantaire contemplated. “I feel like I’m disappointing you.”

“Since the moment I saw you in McDonalds,” Enjolras smiled, “you haven’t disappointed me once.”

Grantaire looked down to hide the blush that crept up his cheeks, and continued walking, hand-in-hand with Enjolras.

He wanted to say something else, something to set Enjolras’s mind at ease. He’d basically just confessed his love and Grantaire wanted so badly to say _I love you too_ and yet, it wouldn’t seem right somehow. He felt as though he were fooling Enjolras by pretending to be this other person. He wished he could remember something, anything to make his relationship with Enjolras seem more real.

He felt Enjolras squeeze his hand and looked over to see a small smile on his face. Grantaire wasn’t sure why, but it seemed familiar.


	7. Chapter 7

After sundown the next day, the Friends of the Preservation of Historical Buildings met outside the Pantheon, ready to put their plan into action. There was a nervous tension in the air as Courfeyrac reviewed the plan, and gave them all tasks.

“Marius and Grantaire will wait just behind the fountain and keep an eye on the McDonalds,” Courfeyrac said, “Combeferre, Eponine, and Feuilly, you keep watch on the _Rue Soufflot_ and Joly and I will stand guard on the _Boulevard Saint-Michel_.”

“Is there really need to keep a guard?” Grantaire asked, nervously. Enjolras was standing beside him, occasionally flickering in and out of sight.

“Well, we just don’t want any cops showing up,” Courfeyrac explained. “It’s only precaution, I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”

“I have the utmost faith in everyone,” Enjolras said, confidently. He was glowing in the darkness and Grantaire could tell by the way that everyone was refusing to make eye contact that they were still fearful that Enjolras would try to kill them.

“Let’s get into positions, then. Javert and the crew will be arriving any minute now,” Courfeyrac said, and the group departed to their assigned destinations.

Marius, Grantaire, and Enjolras walked towards the McDonalds. They hadn’t been walking for more than a minute when Enjolras reached over and took Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire just smiled in return.

“Young love,” Marius said, in a lofty voice, “you two are like Cosette and me. Of course, Cosette isn’t a ghost.”

“Why am I the Marius of the relationship?” Grantaire asked, a little rudely.

“Because Enjolras and Cosette both have blonde hair,” Marius explained, as though it was obvious. Grantaire looked over to Enjolras then, and wished he could run his fingers through his hair. He supposed that they’d have plenty of time to do that after they rescued the Café Musain.

When they arrived within sight of the McDonalds, they saw that the demolition crew was already set up. Javert was standing outside, looking frustrated. There were at least a dozen other men running around, and a bulldozer parked alongside a large crane. Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who suddenly looked like an incredibly delicate flower. There’s no way he’d be able to stop this.

“Let’s think of something else,” Grantaire said, worriedly.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, entwining their fingers and pressing close to him. “I’m already dead, remember? And I’m not going to fail.”

Suddenly they heard Javert begin to shout and the three of them quieted down, attempting to eavesdrop from behind the fountain.

“You two!” he shouted to two of the men standing beside the crane. “Go inside and make sure all the equipment has been properly turned off, and the area is ready. The last thing I need is a fucking explosion.”

The two men gathered a group and disappeared into the McDonalds.

“Now’s our chance!” Marius called, and Grantaire elbowed him to be quiet.

“Be careful, Apollo,” Grantaire said, but Enjolras was already gone.

The next few moments passed in tense silence. Of course, it wasn’t really completely silent. The motors from the construction vehicles could be heard rumbling, and there was loud music playing from the nearby bars. Grantaire could hear the shouts of drunken people coming from the open doors. He stared straight ahead, counting his breaths, waiting for some sign that Enjolras was okay.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from inside the restaurant. From the top window, Grantaire could see the silhouette of a man, presumably one of the construction workers. There was a sound like a firecracker, and suddenly the top floor was on fire, briefly, and then the fire was gone. There was more noise, and shouts from various voices. All of a sudden, the door to the McDonalds flew open, and the group of men came scrambling out, practically pushing each other over trying to escape the restaurant. A red flag flew from the window and a loud voice called, “ _Vive le Republique! Vive le Café Musain!”_

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh a little at Enjolras’s dramatics. Javert, however, was not laughing. In fact, his previous surprise at the chaos within the McDonalds was now all but completely replaced with a severe look of dissatisfaction.

“What the hell are you all doing?” Javert shouted, addressing the group of construction workers who had just flown out of the restaurant. “Get the fuck back in there and prepare this building for demolition!”

“No way,” one of the workers said, “you didn’t see that? That place is fucking haunted. The whole place was on fire one second–”

“Yeah, and out the next! We heard maniacal laughter! Shit was moving on its own!” a second man joined in.

The growing madness caused by the sabotaged demolition had attracted the attention of the nearby bar-goers. It wasn’t long before a huge crowd had gathered outside the McDonalds, a majority of them completely wasted.

Grantaire and Marius were soon joined by Feuilly, Joly, Combeferre, Eponine, and Courfeyrac, all who had undoubtedly heard the noise and realized that something had either gone very wrong or very right.

“Looks like your ghost got it done,” Combeferre acknowledged, reluctantly.

“Enjolras is pretty amazing,” Grantaire said, smiling at Enjolras being referred to as _Grantaire’s ghost_.

“Thank you, ‘Taire,” Enjolras said, appearing next to him. Grantaire only jumped a little, before wrapping his arms around Enjolras and hugging him. They separated only long enough for Grantaire to pull him in for a kiss, running fingers through his hair. For a ghost, he had incredibly warm lips and soft hair.

“Okay, we’re not done yet!” Courfeyrac shouted above the chaos that was beginning to form as the drunken horde of people began singing various songs and fighting amongst each other. “Let’s talk to the people!”

Courfeyrac stood atop the fountain and shouted, “attention, everyone!”

Only a few people looked over, practically falling on top of each other in their drunken stupors.

“This McDonalds is the place of a historical building known as the Café Musain!” Courfeyrac shouted.

“I fucking love the Café Musain!” shouted a random drunk dude, who’d probably never heard of it.

“Well, good,” Courfeyrac said, looking a little puzzled. “Then are we just going to let it get demolished?”

“No fucking way!” someone else called, and Grantaire could hear the sound of a bottle smashing on the ground.

“Not to mention the place is haunted!” one of the construction crew shouted. He was now holding a can of beer in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“It’s fucking haunted!” someone agreed. Soon Courfeyrac’s attempt at a speech was lost in the drunken chaos, and they lost sight of Javert as he made a quick escape.

“Save the Café Musain!” the random drunk dude from earlier yelled, joining Courfeyrac on top of the fountain, and throwing his arm around him as though they were old friends. Grantaire, Enjolras, and the rest of the group went up on top of the fountain to join Courfeyrac, all the while chanting “Save the Café Musain!”

The random drunk dude looked over suddenly and said, “Whoa, is that guy transparent?”

Courfeyrac just let out a nervous laugh and said, “I think you’re just drunk.”

Grantaire and Enjolras stepped down from the fountain, making their way through the tumultuous crowd.

They walked hand-in-hand down the street, back to Grantaire’s dorm room.

“You were amazing,” Grantaire said, “you scared the shit out of them.”

“I told you my haunting skills were fine,” Enjolras said, smiling, and leaning closely into Grantaire.

“Tomorrow, we’re buying crêpes to celebrate,” Grantaire said, placing his arm around Enjolras’s waist.

“I can’t wait,” Enjolras responded. He stopped walking, and pulled Grantaire against him, holding him close. “You have no idea how amazing it is to see you again. How amazing it is to see everyone.”

Grantaire didn’t respond, struck silent by the emotion welling up in Enjolras’s eyes. He wondered if Enjolras had always been this outwardly emotional, or if it was simply the result of being on earth for so long. Grantaire guessed it was the latter.

“When I first learned that I had become a ghost, destined to haunt the café forever, I was so angry,” Enjolras began, and he was holding Grantaire’s hand tightly. “I would never see you again – the person I said was useless, the person who died beside me. I would never tell you how much you meant to me. And now, seeing you again, it’s truly a miracle.” He leaned forward and buried his nose in Grantaire’s black hair.

“It is,” Grantaire agreed, because the whole ordeal did seem miraculous, even if he had only just discovered that he was a reincarnated revolutionary.

“I understand that my proclamation of love was overwhelming for you,” Enjolras was looking away now, glancing downwards. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention.”

Grantaire felt a pit in his stomach as he remembered how hopeless Enjolras had looked confessing his love. He would never want to feel that way. He loved Enjolras, and he couldn’t imagine how painful it would be if Enjolras didn’t feel the same way.

“I love you too, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras raised an eyebrow as though he didn’t really believe him. “It’s true, and I know I just met you, and this is crazy but, sometimes certain things you do seem so familiar. Maybe in time, I will remember our other life.”

“I hope so,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire was grateful that Enjolras didn’t seem to be knowledgeable enough about pop music to catch his ill-timed Carly Rae quote. “But even if you never do, it won’t be so bad. Our other lives were important; they paved the way for change. Maybe now, we can finally be together, happily.”

Grantaire tilted his head up to catch Enjolras’s lips, and they kissed there, under the moonlight, the sound of a drunken horde in the distance shouting “Save the Café Musain!”

Grantaire couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful.

 


End file.
